


Happy Birthday, Aaron Hotchner!

by masterwords



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Sick Aaron Hotchner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:33:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27355042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterwords/pseuds/masterwords
Summary: Today, November 2nd, is Aaron Hotchner's birthday...and he's feeling a little under the weather.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/David Rossi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	Happy Birthday, Aaron Hotchner!

“Dad?” Jack called softly through the bathroom door. Hotch wiped at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. The tattered old sweatshirt, now soaked with his sweat, was sticking uncomfortably to his abdomen after an hour of violently losing everything he'd ever eaten. 

“I'm fine, Jack, go back to bed...” he muttered and Jack rolled his eyes, his father was ridiculous. 

“Yeah right, dad,” he called back, pounding again with his fist. “Just lemme in, I gotta get ready for school.” 

Hotch froze in place – had it been longer than an hour? It was time for Jack to go to school? 

“Let me get in the shower, then you can come in,” Hotch murmured, flushing the toilet and furiously spraying disinfectant around the toilet. He started the shower while he worked, letting the steam fill the room entirely before unlocking the door and getting into the tub, still fully clothed. He sat near the drain, curled around himself pitifully, letting the hot water pour over him and wash away the sickness. Jack entered cautiously, gagging at the smell dramatically. 

“Geeze, dad...” he grumbled, grabbing his toothbrush. “It smells like something died in here.”

“Shut up.” It made Hotch smile, he loved these years as Jack got older and wiser, even if his sharpening wit sliced more often at his father than anyone else. It made him proud. He let his cheek rest against his knee, shutting his eyes and just feeling the water soaking every bit of him. After a few moments of silence he opened his eyes to find Jack watching him curiously through a gap in the curtain. 

“You ok dad? For real?” he asked, the sarcasm gone from his voice for just a moment. Hotch smiled and nodded weakly. 

“Yeah buddy, I'm fine. Think I just ate something that didn't agree with me.” 

Jack regarded his father again for a moment and shrugged. “Okay, if you say so. Hey, dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Birthday,” he said, grinning as he ducked out of the bathroom quickly before his father found the strength to come after him and knock him over. He knew his dad hated his birthday and did everything to avoid anyone knowing what day it was. Hotch felt his stomach churn violently at the thought of it being his birthday, somehow even he'd managed to overlook the date on the calendar this time. _Shit_ , he thought bitterly, now pulling the soaking sweatshirt over his head and slipping out of his pants. He hucked the soaked clothes to the other end of the tub and stretched out his long legs, relishing in the quiet, scalding hot shower for a long while after Jack left before standing back up slowly. His head spun a little and he steadied himself against the wall, fine after a few moments. He turned off the shower and walked, dripping, out of the bathroom and into his bedroom to grab a towel from the hamper. He hadn't realized how long it had been since the laundry had been washed in his bachelor pad – that was Jack's job, supposedly, but at 13 he wasn't exactly on top of it. After drying himself, he put on a new grungy sweatshirt and found some sweatpants of the same caliber, grimy workout clothes leftover from his days at the academy. They'd been in boxes for so long, but Jack liked to wear them now, though they were still much too large for him. Quietly he padded out to the kitchen, his bare feet slipping through the carpet effortlessly. They hadn't lived in this apartment long, moved to start fresh, it felt like they were always doing that these days. He opened the fridge to see what awaited him inside – condiments, takeout boxes and a jug of ice cold water. Suddenly he felt the bile rise in his throat and rushed to the sink, dry heaving painfully, his body rejecting something that wasn't even there anymore. In the middle of his misery, he heard the last sound he'd wanted to hear – a knock at his door. He struggled to hold his breath, not to make a sound, but his stomach continued heaving and he couldn't stop himself from gagging further, tears pouring hot out of his eyes against his will. As he heaved over the sink, he heard the familiar sound of a key turning in the lock, and he couldn't do anything to stop it, he couldn't leave the sink. 

“Aaron?” came Dave's voice from the door, closing it behind him as he entered. He could hear the other man just around the corner in the kitchen and approached slowly, a large brown paper bag in one hand and his briefcase in the other. “Aaron, is everything alright?” he called again, now taking in the sight of his friend bent over the sink. He set the bag and briefcase down and walked over to Hotch, placing his hand on the other man's back, rubbing gently between his shoulder blades, trying to ease and comfort his friend. 

“What...” Hotch started, forcing back another violent, painful gag. “What are you doing here?”

“Jack called me, he said he needed a ride to school because he missed the bus...”

“Shit,” Hotch muttered, grabbing at the roll of paper towels and wiping his mouth dry, trying to hide his face from Rossi. “Sorry.”

“He could have walked. I think he wanted me to come stay with you. Heckuva kid you're raising there." 

Slowly, Hotch pushed himself upright, reeling from that familiar lightheaded feeling again and steadied himself against the counter. Rossi slid his arm around Hotch's shoulders and gently guided him to the couch, helping him get comfortable silently. He knew Hotch felt like garbage, there was no way he'd have gone along with Rossi otherwise. 

“I'm fine,” Hotch started, looking up at his friend, pathetic and sick and begging his friend just to pretend to believe him. Rossi nodded. 

“Of course.” 

“No, really, I just ate something bad that's all...” Hotch continued, pulling his chilly hands inside of the sleeves of his shirt and balling them up into fists. He folded his arms over his chest and shivered a little. 

“Sure,” Rossi continued, grabbing a blanket from the arm of the couch and covering his friend with it. Aaron let himself loosen up a little once under the cover of the blanket, shivering in the warmth of his shirt. He shouldn't have taken such a hot shower for so long, he knew, but it had felt so good. Rossi quietly moved over to the kitchen and unpacked the contents of his paper bag – a small tiramisu, a tub of strawberries, two rather large porterhouse steaks and a bottle of scotch that Rossi had hoped the two of them would enjoy together after work, but sometimes life had other plans. Hotch glanced over at the items on the counter and his heart nearly exploded in his chest. 

“Dave,” he said quietly, his voice soft and sweet, all of the edge he'd been affecting melted away. 

“Don't worry about it,” Dave broke in, smiling and shrugging his shoulders. “C'est la vie!” He put the food in the fridge but let the scotch stay right where it was. “Can I get you anything?”

Aaron regarded his friend for a moment, then shook his head no and buried his aching head in the blanket, resting it against his knees now drawn to his chest. He was freezing and he felt like garbage. Before long, he felt the weight of his friend on the couch beside him, arm sliding around his shoulders and pulling him in close, and he looked up into Dave's eyes sadly. Softly, so softly, Dave pressed a kiss to Aaron's warm forehead and let himself breathe in the smell of this person he loved so dearly. 

“You need to sleep,” Dave whispered, letting his fingers tangle in Aaron's dark hair mindlessly, one of his favorite things to do. He could feel Aaron melt into him, relaxing into his warmth, and he smiled a little as he felt Aaron's breathing slow down and fall into deep, healing sleep breaths. 

“Don't go,” Aaron whispered sleepily, drifting quietly off. 

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Dave replied, his voice whisper soft and gentle. “Happy Birthday il mio amor.”


End file.
